Simular Beings

Frozen Heart, Empty Thoughts

Bread didn't like this—this feeling of death. He didn't want to know what it felt like anymore. He wished he'd never known.

He sat next to the dandelions that have long since lost their yellow, puffing up like balls of miniature clouds. They were gone—just like the sun that fell in the distance past the haze of what was once black, suffocating smoke. They were all gone.

Just like Coach...

The roof garden managed to have survived the fire—the one good thing from all this. It seemed all the more alluring to him, this flower garden. He liked this place. It was calming, relieving. It always seemed to help him get a better hold of his thoughts, but right now, there just wasn't enough. Not enough dandelions, nature. Just not enough of anything.

Val was right. It was his fault. He didn't belong. Not here, not anywhere. He was the source of all her problems. He was the reason all of this had happened in the first place. If he hadn't been here...

His eyes started to water.

Was this what Val was going through this whole time with Beady? It hurt so much. He just couldn't get any of it out of his mind.

A family. He thought he could finally have a family—a place to belong. He thought he'd found his place. Coach had even said so—that they were family. But it didn't feel like it. It didn't feel like they were family.

Val didn't want him. Nobody ever did. All he'd ever wanted was to make people smile more, make them happier, but nothing he did ever felt right. It was never as fulfilling as he'd thought it'd be.

Dad was better. Back in that secluded, white room, watching the fake sun set every night over that fake city. He was still wanted there. Dad still wanted him, needed him, and he wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. He wouldn't have to experience death anymore.

"Death is inevitable."

Dad's words echoed back. It was true; his records told him everything. Eventually, everyone here was going to die. Coach was gone; Val would soon follow. And as someone who wasn't even real, he'd continue to live on, existing in this world that seemed less and less colorful than he'd first imagined it to be. If he knew this was going to happen, he would've never left Simular.

Why was he even born in the first place? Living seemed painful. It always hurt. And it wasn't just him. Everyone he'd ever come across was also hurting—the lion, Val, that girl from before, even the man who had attacked Coach. What was the point in being real when all it brought was this empty feeling inside?

He should've never interfered. Like that dandelion he'd pulled out and killed, everything he touched, he ruined. He'd messed it all up. He should've just stayed put and watched the sun like he was doing now. He'd just stare. Every day. Until his body deteriorated and rusted away. He'd just watch from a distance—

"Bread!"

It was Val. Just below. He saw her frantically looking around.

"Bread! Please, answer me!"

He stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry!"

Bread knew the moment he yelled back that it'd hurt all over again.

"Please, come back!" Her voice cracked. "Don't leave me too!"

He was going to consider her a stranger. He didn't want it—this family thing. He didn't want to know her, he didn't want to see the world. None of that. He didn't deserve any of that. But he could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. His hands trembled; he just wanted to answer her back.

"You're all I've got! Bread!"

He wanted to yell. So badly. But he held on. He closed his eyes and lied down. He'd just sleep through it. He'd just hide, and eventually, she'd forget. After all, he wasn't Beady. He wasn't even real. She only wanted someone to be there. Not him specifically. She could always find another replacement.

And they'd both be happier. Finally...

...

Bread woke up.

Something gently brushed across his hair. Something soft. Like fingers.

Fingers?

He tensed up. What was brushing against his hair? There was a light source shining from behind his back, a blanket over his body.

Blanket?

"You up?" The voice sounded rough but familiar. "My bad."

"Val?"

She continued brushing through his hair. Her face was puffed up, and her eye was so bloodshot he could see the red even through the darkness. The expression she made, though, was soft. A faint smile spread across. "Please don't do that again."

How did she know he was here?

Her smile quickly wore off, replaced quickly by a frown. "Why didn't you answer? I know you heard me."

"Sorry..."

"No, I'm sorry." She gently rocked him side to side. "I'm the one who said all that. I don't hate you. I just said that in the moment."

He didn't know what to say.

"Thank you. For stopping me." Her voice was so quiet. It almost sounded like a whisper. "I don't regret ever finding you."

The look she gave was genuine. He could see it in her eye. He knew that, but he didn't want to believe it.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything," she muttered. A long sigh escaped her. "I just can't do anything right, can I?"

"No, it's..." His lips started to move without thinking. He didn't like it. She had so much on her shoulders, so many thoughts going around. He didn't know why, but he didn't like it at all. "It's not your fault. Beady and Coach. And-and everything. I-it's—"

"Bread. I know." She smiled again. It was that same sad smile from that interview he'd seen her in. The same face she'd made before. "But it was my responsibility to take care of Beady. And Coach too."

"No, it's not your fault they're—" He faltered. He couldn't say it—that they were gone. He still didn't completely believe it. He couldn't. Coach was here just yesterday. He was here comforting him, telling him what to do. He was here. He was here sitting next to him, right in this very garden. "Coach—"

He choked; his eyes blurred again.

"It's okay." Val brought him closer. "Just let it all out."

There was hesitation, but eventually, he finally let it out. Quietly, waves of tears rolled down his cheeks. Waves and waves of what he'd pent up. He felt a little better, but only for a short while. Val was hurting; he'd promised to make her happy. But all he'd done was indulge in his own selfish feelings.

These visions he had whenever he zapped people—they let him see what others were seeing, feel what they were feeling. But that was it. He knew what they felt, but that was it. He couldn't help. Even without it, he knew Val was hurting, and he couldn't do anything about except just get in her way.

He was just a burden to her.

Val looked to the stars, breath faintly wavering under the soft glow of moonlight. It was quiet; the streets were dark. The world seemed to be holding its breath. And it was then that Bread decided—

He'd go back. Back to the beginning where he belonged.